


Dawn

by wickednlazy



Category: Flowers (TV), flowers channel 4
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-12
Updated: 2016-06-12
Packaged: 2018-07-14 14:46:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7176215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wickednlazy/pseuds/wickednlazy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just a little drabbly thing between Maurice and Amy because I loved Flowers so much and I wanted to have a go at writing the characters. I'm still very rusty at fanfic and new to this one, so please be gentle.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dawn

The grass was damp under Amy’s boots, scudding across the lawn to her Dad’s private little work space. Overhead the sky was a pale wash of grey and pink, melting together at the horizon. The surrounding trees were still full of night, but she felt at peace beside the wilderness. Often sleep would abandon her, so she watched the sky change from colour to colour through the loneliest hours, tracing the bats that would zip overhead and vanish over the canopy. A scrawny but punctual brown fox would trot down the lane further away from the house, exactly at half past four in the morning, making its way back to the woods.

A little glow from the hut gently pushed back the shadows on the lawn. Amy stopped, almost spilling the tea cradled in her hands. There was movement inside, distinct movement- she had been surprised enough that there was light inside, though the sight of her Dad traipsing across the grass before the sun was even a glimmer in the distance had surprised her more.

She couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept in the house.

She nudged the door open gently, sliding her face into the gap it made.

‘’Dad?’’

‘’Oh- Amy, come in, it’s fine, it’s- I’m just moving some things,’’ Maurice waved a hand vaguely at the small ocean of drawings around him, ‘’mostly Shun’s things. Have you seen Shun, actually?’’

Amy shook her head, sliding in her arm and offering the tea. Her Dad stretched forward to take it. Paper crunched under his boots, shuffled stacks and piles littering every available space. It was something akin to tidying, but Amy was certain she could see the floor before he’d started.

‘’Do you think he’ll come back for it?’’ She asked, stepping over some particularly colorful drawings of the infamous ’Supergay’ and perching on the sunken armchair.

‘’Well, he’s done so much. He was always doing so much.’’ Maurice said, surveying the artwork. He hadn’t realised quite how much was here, so many hours, so many delicate lines, no matter the strange nature of most of Shun’s art. Until he started pulling it all out of the desk and the surrounding drawers, he was unaware of the miscellaneous tapestry that Shun had created. He was a tireless bubbling fountain of creativity.

‘’You could always organise it into Grubbs stuff and…non Grubbs stuff.’’ Amy suggested, eyeing another suggestible drawing. Beneath it, however, a flash of watery blue caught her eye. She shifted the papers with thin fingers, pulling out an exquisitely delicate ink drawing of a Japanese street at night.

She pored over the details, lost in the dark and light washes of ink, before realizing that her Dad was doing the same over the entire collection around him, lost in the void.

‘’Dad?’’

‘’Yep?’’ He looked up sharply at the note of caution in her voice, offering a weak smile. His face produced the right lines, the tug of the mouth, the raise of his eyebrows, but the dullness of his eyes always betrayed him.

‘’Why are you tidying?’’

‘’Well, it’s…overdue, isn’t it? It’s just so cluttered and distracting in here, I need to freshen up, you know, make a clean slate with a clean space. Clear my head.’’

‘’Are you going to start writing again?’’

Maurice remained motionless, lost at sea amidst the paintings and sketches. Sunlight was beginning to filter through the window. His fingers twitched against the warmth on his hand.

‘’I don’t know, maybe.’’ He replied, with the voice he normally reserved for other people. It was an automatic response- for when he couldn’t say what he was really thinking, or feeling, so they believed everything was as it should be.

His gaze drifted to his daughter, still perched on the edge of his chair with the ink drawing in her hands. Her wide blue eyes were settled on him behind a curtain of long dark hair, but he didn’t find them as intense as he found the gazes of other people.

Other people judged, if not with their mouths, then always with their eyes. Amy, however, was not other people.

His voice softened as he spoke again.

‘’Maybe.’’


End file.
